


stars fall like snowflakes

by uptownskunk



Series: acrasia [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel 1602
Genre: Alpha Sir Nicholas Fury, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Consent Issues, Earth-311, Fuck Or Die, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Omega Sexism, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Omega Peter Parquagh, Omega Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 03:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17480399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uptownskunk/pseuds/uptownskunk
Summary: Peter goes into heat. Sir Nicholas gives him a choice.





	stars fall like snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place pre-1602 canon. Since the Peter & Fury of this universe don't have canon ages, I'm putting Peter at 15 and Fury at 45. 
> 
> Title from Angie Stone’s song “Snowflakes”.

Winter is such a quiet season.

The cold air constricts the throats of all who breathe it, forcing people to wrap their mouths in scarves and keep their voices low even as the chill seeps into their bones and pushes them to stay indoors, shooing them off the streets like an unwelcome guest encroaching into winter’s home. The snow falls and falls and falls some more, blanketing the world, muffling it, until all that can be heard is the lightest sound of snowflakes landing like tiny wings fluttering on tiny birds.

It’s beautiful, the silence of this empty, whited out world.

Looking out the window at it, Peter can almost imagine that it truly _is_ empty, that all that exists on earth is in this cabin and there’s nothing outside of it but snow for miles around. No evil men, no dangerous secrets, no pointless wars, no prejudice, no problems. Just the snow and the quiet, the warmth of the fire in the room behind him, the echoing heat crawling up his belly, the throbbing of his cock, and the wet, viscous slide of slick down his---

Peter bites his tongue on a curse and clenches his ass like it will do him any good, like it’s actually possible for him to will his body to stop what it’s doing. He lets go of the pulled back curtain, allowing it fall back in place over the window, and turns to look at Sir Nicholas where the man sits in front of the fire, stoking it with a metal rod.

The silence outside is beautiful.

The silence _inside_ , however, is nearly as maddening as the fever that’s been slowly seeping out of Peter’s skull. The fever that runs to his eyes to make them feel hazy and on the verge of blinking tears and to his mouth to make his tongue feel twice its size, saliva pooling in it that he has to keep swallowing down, and then down his body to make his nipples ache and his hips feel sore, his cock pulse between his thighs, and his ass ache with emptiness and leak wetness that only serves to make Peter feel humiliated, remembering bawdy jokes he’s overheard older men making about what went on in whorehouses with the male omegas who worked there – jokes told, often enough, deliberately for Peter’s benefit and only when Sir Nicholas wasn’t there.

It’s the same humiliation that drives Peter’s silence now, the shame about what he is and the desperate need to deny what’s happening for as long as he can until it can’t be denied any longer. His silence is comforting, it’s necessary, it’s keeping reality at bay for just awhile longer.

It’s Sir Nicholas’ silence that’s driving him mad.

The man _knows_ , of course. He knew it even before Peter did, had given Peter such a _long_ and searching look after they’d finished some business in London before promptly stating that they’d be going to one of his safehouses out in the country for awhile with not a word of explanation as to why.

Peter had long since learned how to gauge when Sir Nicholas would welcome requests for clarification and when he’d prefer if Peter just kept his mouth shut and did as he was told.

This time, he didn’t ask why.

This time, he got their things together and got on his horse and followed Sir Nicholas to wherever he was leading them without expressing so much as a hint of his curiosity out loud.

It wasn’t until days later that Peter had started feeling odd, first with cramps in his stomach that led to aches in his hips that led to the building heat that only got warmer and warmer despite the snow falling all around them, and it was only when he started leaking slick that Peter realized that he wasn’t coming down with some strange plague but that something far worse was happening.

His heat.

His _first_ one.

For God’s sake, the plague would have been preferable.

It isn’t like Peter hadn’t known it would happen eventually – one knew their designation early in life and there was nothing that could be done to change it. Peter has known that he’s an omega since he was old enough to know his letters, he’s known what that means ever since his Aunt and Uncle had explained it to him – kindly, of course, as kindly as they _could_ without lying to Peter about how male omegas were viewed by society – and he’s known it even better after hearing countless _jokes_ and insults alike from people who had no desire to be kind and were all too happy to let him know the only thing they thought male omegas were _good_ for.

Peter knew he’d have a heat eventually. All omegas did, even if a male omega’s heat served no real purpose – had no chance of resulting in pregnancy while a female omega’s heat almost assured it.

He _knew_ it would happen, but that doesn’t stop it from being a surprise when it finally does and it doesn’t stop Peter from the instant flush of shame he feels when he realizes that this little break Sir Nicholas has insisted on them taking is only happening _because_ of it, that the man had likely realized it because he could _smell_ the approaching heat on Peter with his alpha’s sense of smell.

Sir Nicholas had never treated Peter like he was anything _less_ than anyone else because of his designation, he’d given Peter a place in the world and all his tutelage had to offer despite it, and after awhile Peter had actually started to believe that being an omega wasn’t the handicap he thought it was, that he was capable and _deserving_ of better things in the world no matter what his designation may be.

But then Peter feels the horrible, aching _emptiness_ in his body and he feels the instinctual knowledge pulsing through him that he needs something, some _one_ , to fill him to make it stop and Peter’s hopes melt away like snowflakes on his skin, replaced by feelings of disgust with himself, with his body, and with the fact that his mentor is there to witness all of it.

And yet, Sir Nicholas hasn’t said a word about what he _must_ know is going on – not on their journey and not here in the cabin where the man nonchalantly stokes the fire like this is any other day, like they’re settling for the night after any other mission.

Peter doesn’t know what it is he wants Sir Nicholas to say – a reassurance, an order, a suggestion, anything that will take the next few hours or days or however long his heat lasts out of the realm of uncertainty and give him an idea of what he needs to _do_ and tells him that it’ll be _okay_ no matter what it is.

The seconds tick by in more silence.

Peter feels a wave of heat flash through him that has his hand coming up automatically to undo the top buttons of his shirt, swallowing thickly and biting back a whimper as his cock remains heavy and needy between his legs.

As if this movement was his cue, Sir Nicholas sets his metal stick aside and stands up from the fire to finally face Peter, looking him in the eyes.

Sir Nicholas’ face is as serious as it is before they embark on any mission, his eye as shrewd and calculating as ever, and there’s not a _hint_ of panic or concern or _disgust_ about him that Peter can detect whatsoever – and that, the lack of disgust with Peter more than anything, reassures Peter in a way he’s immediately grateful for.

“This is not a world that suffers male omegas lightly. I had hoped to spare you of most of the hardship those of your designation go through by taking you in, but even I can’t stop your own biology.” Sir Nicholas’ voice is flat and emotionless, not that Peter expected anything else.

Sir Nicholas is not a man prone to bursts of emotion or things like sentimentality but despite that, Peter doesn’t doubt the sincerity of his words.

“Y-yes, sir. I know that. I’ve always been grateful to you for—for _everything_ you’ve done for me.” Peter swallows hard. “I’ll understand if now it’s... _too much_ , if you’ve reconsidered.”

“I’ve reconsidered nothing, Mr. Parquagh. Your heat is something I’ve been prepared for since the day I took you in. I always knew it would happen and I always knew when it did, I would give you a choice.”

“A choice?” Peter parrots, unable to stop a bitter little laugh from escaping him. “What kind of choice do I have? It’s as you said, sir, even you can’t stop my biology.”

“I could cut your throat,” Sir Nicholas offers bluntly, “it would be understandable if you’d rather die than face your heat – cowardly, perhaps, but understandable. I’d be willing to do that for you, if you wanted. _Do_ you want that?”

Peter’s breath catches in his throat at the words and he stares at Sir Nicholas in open-mouthed shock. His mind catches up to him quickly, though, fever addled as it is, and he shakes his head rapidly in denial. “No— _no_ , I’m not a coward, sir! I don’t---I don’t want to _die_.”

Sir Nicholas doesn’t skip a beat. “Then there’s your second choice – you can go through this heat alone, let it run its course. I can tie you to the bed, keep you hydrated, and we can hope your body doesn’t fail you. You’ll likely die anyway as most omegas do when there’s no alpha to attend to them during their heat, only it will take days and it will be much more painful than a quick blade across your throat would be.”

Anxiety stabs at Peter’s chest at that option, at the thought of being mindless in heat for days, in _agony_ , before finally succumbing. It’s less attractive than dying quick and willingly, horrifying even, and Peter doesn’t have to think about it to know he rejects it – and, with growing suspicion, Peter doesn’t doubt that Sir Nicholas already knows he’ll reject it, too.

“And the third option?” Peter asks, a gnawing ache in his belly to go along with the hot want his body is forcing him to feel churning there. “There is a third option, isn’t there, sir?”

But Peter already knows, really. He isn’t stupid, it’s so obvious, it should have been obvious before, it ---

God, he feels so _foolish_.

“The third option,” Sir Nicholas goes on, face as empty and voice as toneless as ever, “is that I’ll help you through your heat as an alpha is meant to help an omega.”

And even though he’s expecting it, Peter still can’t help but be disappointed.

“Is that why you took me in?” Peter can’t help but ask, can’t quite stop the hurt betrayal he feels from leaking into his voice. “You said you’ve been preparing for this, is this the only reason---”

“ _Stop,_ ” Sir Nicholas bites out and there’s something in his tone _now_ that has Peter shutting his mouth instantly, the sound of a nerve being struck, the sound of genuine _offense_ that’s echoed in the spark in the man’s eye. “You foolish boy, I took you in because I owed your parents more than to let their only son end up the way male omegas of low social standing _always_ end up. I made you my apprentice, I taught you, I trusted you, I _invested_ my time and resources into you all because I saw your potential. If all I wanted was an omega whore to take during his heat, I assure you there are much faster and easier ways of getting that. Do not _insult me_ by thinking of me as some weak alpha ruled by his cock and not his mind.”

Peter’s face _burns_ at the scolding for reasons that have nothing to do with his heat. “I’m—I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean--”

“You did,” Sir Nicholas interrupts, but the ire is already bleeding out of his voice as quickly as it rushed into it. “and you had the right to ask. Just don’t make me answer you _again_ , Mr. Parquagh. I don’t take well to having to repeat myself.”

“I won’t, sir,” Peter promises quickly and means it.

“See that you don’t.” Sir Nicholas levels Peter with a hard look. “But as I said – you have a choice. There are some things in life you cannot control, but this is a choice that is entirely yours to make. It may not be a particularly _pleasant_ one but it is yours and should you accept my offer, I will endeavor to care for you during your heat as I have cared for you in all other matters these last few years.”

Peter hesitates a little before admitting quietly, “I’m afraid.”

“Good,” Sir Nicholas says simply. “If you’re afraid it means you’re paying attention and the heat hasn’t burned through your mind quite yet. Now do what I’ve taught you and don’t just be afraid, be brave as well, brave enough to make a decision and _act_.”

It’s as close to reassurance as Peter is ever going to get from Sir Nicholas and it helps.

There’s really no choice to be made at all, Peter knows – a quick death, a painful death, or an experience of humiliation that will stay with him for the rest of his life. None of them are attractive options, none of them things Peter is clamoring to experience, and not for the first time Peter wishes he’d been born an alpha or a beta or, if he has to be an omega, a woman.

But Peter can’t be anything else, he knows, he has to be what he is now and what Peter is now is someone who doesn’t want to die.

That’s what Peter knows, that’s the thought that rises out of all the misery and aching need and fear burning inside of him. He wants to live to see another day, a thousand more. He wants to see what he can become. He wants to prove that being an omega doesn’t mean he isn’t just as _capable_ as anyone else.

Peter wants to live.

And so Peter looks Sir Nicholas in the eye, nods in agreement, and does what he has to.

He chooses life.


End file.
